


Checkmate

by mallowmelting



Category: Hiccup Series - Cressida Cowell
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, British spelling, Canon Backstory, Canonical Character Death, Family History, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-12 15:25:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11739861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mallowmelting/pseuds/mallowmelting
Summary: And he whispers, 'Checkmate.' Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Second could have been a king. But in the end, he was only a pawn in the great game of history.





	1. The Chessmen

_The chessmen sat face to face,_   
_a board of black and white between._   
_They matched each other pace for pace,  
white pawn so close to being king._

_Pawn made_ first _move, pushed forward two;_  
 _he stumbled and tripped, but didn’t fall._  
 _Alone on the board, he felt he had scored  
a win against the ruler of all._

* * *

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

The visitor was unannounced, but not unexpected. It was the talk of Tomorrow — the entire Archipelago, in fact. Although it had happened only five days ago, the minstrels had already been dispatched to the far corners of the Archipelago, clutching scrolls with songs so newly written that the ink stained their fingers.

So, the news had certainly made it to the Naming Dame’s hut: Grimbeard the Ghastly’s wife, Chinhilda, had given birth to a third son.

She grasped gnarled fingers around the ancient wooden doorknob and gave it a tug. The hinges gave a protesting whine as the Naming Dame tugged it open to come face-to-face with the King of the Wilderwest himself, Grimbeard the Ghastly. She gave a respectful bow.

‘I’ve been expecting you, King,’ said she, and slowly hobbled over to the roaring fireplace. The Naming Dame was not old, but forty years living in a dim hut with only the fire as company had aged her twice as quickly. The fire had withered her skin and the smoke had cracked her voice until she had taken on the appearance of an old woman in both body and spirit.

‘Give me the child.’ She held out an impatient hand. It mattered not what she named the boy. He was third in line; he would never sit on the King’s marble throne. Just another brainless brute of a warrior with overdeveloped muscles, destined to fight with a battle-axe and die young. So was the fate of all Grimbeard’s children.

Or so she thought when the child was handed into her frail arms. He was a small scrap of a thing, with a thin wisp of blond hair and bright blue eyes. They stared into the dancing fire, following the movement of the flames. The boy did not cry. He did not even make a sound.

 _He could have been my successor,_ the Naming Dame caught herself thinking, _if he was but female, and not the King’s infant._

She sighed, a throaty crackling noise mimicking the sputtering of the fire, and tossed a couple of sticks into the blaze. She knew Grimbeard would want his son to be named something Especially Viking-y, like Fatlegs or Dragonheart. Fatlegs would be better, she thought to herself as she peered into the fire. Dragonheart might remind Grimbeard of his youth, and by Woden’s wavering whiskers, she wouldn’t want to do that. The Naming Dame pursed her lips as the sticks shifted in the fireplace. Now, _this_ was unexpected. _Very_ unexpected.

The Naming Dame had never lied before, but now she was tempted. Should the boy live to grow up, he would be a Warrior, a King, the greatest Hero who ever lived. Fame and fortune would be bestowed upon his name.

But he was also a Runt.

The Fate of a Runt was to be abandoned on a hillside or pushed out to sea. Then the Runt would either be saved or perish. The Naming Dame had been taught that it was Fate’s business — therefore, she was not to meddle.

But this Runt could save them all.

The Naming Dame gave a heavy sigh, and handed the baby back to Chinhilda. The fire never lied, and this boy could be a Hero, if given the chance, but he was also a Runt. Although she despised leaving him at the mercy of Fate and the gods, she was bound by oath to never tell a falsehood.

‘By the mighty hammer and hairy beard of Thor,’ she proclaimed, speaking the words that had carved a rut into her tongue for forty years, ‘I name this child Hiccup Horrendous Haddock.’

The flames spat as if in annoyance. ‘The Second,’ the Naming Dame added quickly, and the fire settled back down, satisfied.

Grimbeard the Ghastly gasped and sputtered, not unlike the fire itself. ‘But… that’s an _unlucky_ name!’ he exclaimed. ‘My son cannot have that name!’

‘True,’ said the Naming Dame, shrugging. ‘Anyone with the name Hiccup has quite an unlucky Fate, the Fate of changing the course of destiny. But,’ she said as the King opened his mouth to speak again, ‘your son is a _Runt._ And Hiccup is the name given to Runts in the Hooligan Tribe.’

‘This is the King’s son!’ roared Grimbeard. ‘He cannot be a Runt!’

‘With all due respect, Your Majesty, I’m afraid Fate does not particularly care if your child is the son of a King or a pauper,’ replied the Naming Dame. ‘She knows her business, and she has proclaimed the boy a Runt. As is tradition, you must abandon young Hiccup on a hillside or push him out to sea. The gods’ will be done.’

And that was the end of that. The King and his wife left the Naming Dame’s hut, Chinhilda’s feet noticeably dragging behind her.

* * *

Grimbeard the Ghastly was a man of the Law.

He was nothing if not a stern King, for only a stern King could rule the unruly tribes of the Wilderwest. There was simply no room in his heart for doubt, or sorrow, or regret. He reserved a small place in his heart for his love for Chinhilda, and filled the rest with war tactics, Insults, and the sea-salt of the Inner Isles.

The moment the Naming Dame had proclaimed the boy a Runt, he was certainly surprised, but because he was such a very stern King, Grimbeard knew exactly what he must do.

‘I’ll settle the funeral arrangements, Chinhilda my dear,’ said Grimbeard as soon as they arrived on the steps of the castle. ‘You should get some rest, you look tired.’

Chinhilda said nothing, her downcast eyes only for the baby in her arms.

‘Is something the matter, my lobster-pot?’

‘Is something the _matter_ ?’ Chinhilda repeated, and she raised her head, eyes flashing with fire. ‘Funeral arrangements? Grimbeard, this is our _son_. You cannot simply abandon him just because some crackpot old lady said so!’

‘But the boy is a Runt—’ began Grimbeard, but Chinhilda wasn’t finished.

‘It is a death sentence, to leave Hiccup alone in the world in the middle of winter! The gods’ will, my left toe. It is a death sentence. You may as well dig a grave and lay Hiccup inside. I will not allow you to do this.

‘And if you do,’ Chinhilda finished with a ring, ‘if you take Hiccup away from me and leave him at the mercy of the wolves and wild dragons, I will no longer call myself your wife. It is my right, Your Majesty the King.’

And with that, she turned and walked inside.

Grimbeard stayed behind, his mouth hanging open. There was no word in Norse that could accurately describe his astonishment — in fact, the only word that could was in Dragonese and that word was BOGGLE-SMASHED.

Chinhilda, leave him? What utter nonsense! She may have screamed at him, cursed him, held her axe to his throat, but never in fifteen years had Chinhilda threatened to leave him. He had to admit it frightened him, the fury of his wife’s rage.

He stood there a long time, on the steps of his castle. Thinking.

Then he gave a great, low sigh, hung his head, and entered the palace.

He instructed the nearest slave to wake him around midnight, quietly and without fuss, and to make sure that Chinhilda was sleeping.

* * *

Chinhilda was a great Warrior.

She was a Very Great Warrior, in fact, the most skilled axe-fighter in the Archipelago, but she had one fatal fault that had lost her many a battle. Chinhilda loved too easily and too much.

The King had not been her first love, and would not be her last. No, her first love had been a dragon, an adorable, stupid Puggle she had rescued many years ago from the Uglithug Amber-Mines, who had been wild-born and wild-raised. Then one day the Puggle, following the scent of food, had gotten itself caught under the talons of a Rottdragon and, well, you can guess the rest. Chinhilda had cried for days.

She knew this was a fault that would get her killed one day through underhanded treachery if not on the battlefield. But Chinhilda made no effort to change herself, for she could not bear to think of a life without the the thrill-ride, the fall onto rain-soaked ground, the giving of your entire heart and expecting nothing in return. I suppose you could say she had fallen in love with love itself.

And although she loved her husband, she loved her son Hiccup more. Perhaps it was because she knew that she must give him up in the end. And wasn’t that what being a Viking — no, being human — was all about? Loving, and fighting for your Love even if you knew your Love was lost?

Chinhilda knew that Grimbeard would follow the Law, no matter what. After all, he was a Hooligan, and a King. She loved him, and she pitied him, and she despised herself for that. What King could do anything to deserve her pity? What kind of King would put his Laws before his own son?

She spent a long time pacing back and forth, spinning her battle-axe from hand to hand. Thinking.

Finally she came to a decision. Chinhilda caught her axe in her firm right hand and set it down. She pulled a very old trunk from a hidden place, and blew a good two inches of dust off the top. She opened it and inhaled the stale air like a blessing; the trunk was full of gold, and weapons, and armour caked in dust. This was her morning-gift, given to her by Grimbeard many years ago. She had not used it in fifteen years.

She left her lobster-claw necklace balanced on top of Grimbeard’s helmet-peg, so he would know that she had gone. For Chinhilda was leaving Tomorrow, maybe leaving the Archipelago entirely, and she was taking her son with her.

But Thor’s thunder was raging outside, sending down jagged bolts of lightning and sheets of pouring rain. She would leave in the morning, Chinhilda decided. After all, Hiccup would still be there next to her, sleeping in his cradle, when she awoke.

* * *

Thugheart was an Heir.

He was the son of Grimbeard the Ghastly, brought up in the great castle of Tomorrow where dragon and human slaves waited on him hand and foot. And as such, even at only nine years old Thugheart knew his own importance.

The night after his parents had brought his youngest brother to the Naming Dame, Thugheart was tossing and turning in bed. The rolling thunder outside was drowned out by his brother Chucklehead’s guffaws, so loud they could be heard from Thugheart’s bedroom down the hall. Chucklehead occasionally laughed in his sleep; in the morning he would say that his dream was very funny, but never told anyone what it was about. His mother often said he had a head filled with good cheer. Grimbeard more frequently said that his son had a head full of air.

After several hours unable to sleep, Thugheart decided to take a walk. He swung his legs out of bed and put on a pair of deerskin slippers, quietly grumbling about the fact that no servants were awake to put his slippers on for him. He tiptoed down the ornate hallway, which was decorated with the portraits of his ancestors, all former Kings of the Wilderwest. The oldest painting hung above the grand staircase and was of Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the First King. Its face was painted over, and when he was younger Thugheart used to spend many hours sitting before the portrait of the old King, imagining what his face looked like in life.

When Thugheart reached the staircase, he looked left, then right, then carefully swung his legs over the rail. After checking once more that no one was watching, he pushed off and sailed down the smooth spiral staircase. Those stairs were polished so thoroughly that by the time he reached the bottom, Thugheart’s trousers remained clean as new. He leapt off the rail and held his arms open wide like the conductor of an orchestra.

 _One day,_ thought Thugheart, _this will all be mine._

‘Thugheart?’

His eyes popped wide open in surprise. He hurriedly put his hands in his pockets. ‘Father! Why are you awake?’

‘I should ask the same of you, son,’ replied Grimbeard, a twinkle in his old eye. Thugheart sincerely hoped he hadn’t seen him sliding down the stair rail.

‘I couldn’t sleep, Father,’ said Thugheart truthfully. ‘The storm outside keeps me awake. And Chucklehead’s chuckles…’

As if on cue, the gleeful laugh of Grimbeard’s second son echoed from upstairs.

‘What’s that you’re holding?’ asked Thugheart. For indeed, his father held a small bundle of blankets in his arms.

‘You should get back to bed,’ said Grimbeard, stepping around Thugheart’s question.

‘But what are you holding?’ Thugheart repeated, more than a bit annoyed. When he asked a question, he deserved to be answered!

‘You’re too young to understand—” Grimbeard began, but Thugheart stood on his tiptoes and snatched the bundle from his father’s hairy arms.

‘It’s a _baby_!’ he said in wonder. ‘It’s my brother! Where are you taking him?’

“Er… well,’ said Grimbeard, ‘he’s not going to live with us anymore, Thugheart.’

‘What do you mean, he’s not going to live with us?’

‘You see, son, this boy Hiccup is a Runt. What’s the saying in the Hooligan Tribe?’

‘Only the strong can belong,’ Thugheart recited proudly.

‘Exactly. And Hiccup is not strong. He’s a weakling. So for the good of the Tribe, we must send him away.’

‘Where are we sending him?’

‘He’s going to the gods.’

Thugheart frowned. ‘Doesn’t that mean he has to die?’

‘Well, yes,’ admitted Grimbeard.

‘I’m going to go to the gods too,’ Thugheart proclaimed, ‘but not ‘til I’m big. I’ll win all the battles in Valhalla.’

And odd look came over Grimbeard’s face that Thugheart couldn’t decipher. But then Grimbeard bent down on one knee and looked his son straight in the eye.

‘Do you want to know a secret, Thugheart?’

Thugheart nodded.

‘Your brother Hiccup isn’t going to Valhalla. He’s not a King or a Hero, and never will be. He’s nothing but a mistake. But _you_ will be King one day, so you’d better not leave for Valhalla before your time is up. Or who else will be there to take your place — Chucklehead?’ Grimbeard laughed. ‘You’ll be a great King of the Wilderwest one day, son.’

He took the baby from Thugheart’s arms and left.

After his father was gone, Thugheart tried out the words. ‘I’ll be a great King of the Wilderwest one day.’

And then, ‘Only the strong can belong.’

He stood there a long time, feeling the taste of these new Kingly proclamations on his tongue. Thinking.

Alone in the dark castle, Thugheart understood for the first time what that ancient saying really meant.

* * *

Hiccup lay in the dark for a long time, staring at the stars.

He did not know yet why he was alone on this hillside, or why his father had walked away whistling, or why no one would come to take him back home.

But he lay in perfect silence for hours, the starlight above drowning out the darkness all around him.

Until Hiccup heard a rustle, and saw a pair of glowing yellow eyes in the underbrush.


	2. The Red Knight

_Red knight took a brazen leap,  
_ _now leading an army of blood.  
_ _Beware a wolf leading an army of sheep,_  
and this wolf thought he won.

 _But pawn still advanced to challenge knight,  
_ _more thoughtful and calm than his brother.  
_ _Afraid, red knight went back one space to take flight,_  
and pawn was challenged by no other.

 _Pawn to the right moved two spaces up,  
_ _so king-to-be could stand on his shoulders.  
_ _And so began the great setup,_  
of which king-to-be was the controller.

 _Red moved forward, bold as well,  
_ _but careful after their mistake.  
_ _One pawn, one space, now all is swell,_  
Two whites and a red, a trade could be made.

* * *

_Ten Years Later_

On the wild and windy isle of Berk, Thugheart stood up to his ankles in snow, craning his neck to gaze up at Wild Dragon Cliff. Around him, twelve other boys shuffled their feet uncertainly.

Thugheart, however, was the opposite of uncertain. He was nineteen years old, and about to pass this final test before he could become a Warrior of the Wilderwest.[1] He was going to catch his very first dragon.

Chucklehead laughed beside him. ‘What’s so funny?’ Thugheart asked his younger brother. Chucklehead was sixteen now, and still hadn’t kicked his strange habit.

He just kept chuckling and didn’t reply.

‘YOUNG WARRIORS OF THE WILDERWEST!’ hollered Bellicose the Beefy, the leader of the Pirate Training Programme. Thugheart immediately snapped to attention. Chucklehead, however, kept on laughing. Thugheart elbowed him in the ribs, gesturing with his head to the perpetually red-faced Warrior.

‘TODAY,’ roared Bellicose, ‘YOU WILL FACE THE MOST DANGEROUS CHALLENGE THE UNCIVILISED WORLD HAS TO OFFER! TODAY, YOU WILL… CATCH YOUR DRAGON!’

This was met by a wave of whispering throughout the small crowd of teenage Vikings. Except for Thugheart, who whooped and shouted, ‘Death or glory!’

‘But before you begin,’ Bellicose continued after the whispers had died down, ‘I introduce you to His Royal Terrifyingness King Grimbeard the Ghastly.’

And Thugheart’s father took his place in front of the Vikings-in-Training.

 _He limps,_ noticed Thugheart. _Has he always done that? Well, it’s to be expected, I suppose. Father_ is _getting on in years._

Grimbeard’s once-red beard was greying, and he had gained a bit of a potbelly. Yet still, everyone watched the King in awe. Chucklehad wanted to laugh at that, but knew he couldn’t in the King’s presence. So he stayed silent.

‘Initiates,’ said Grimbeard the Ghastly, ‘you are about to embark on a time-honoured quest. Every Warrior of the Wilderwest has caught their dragon from Wild Dragon Cliff since I became King.’

Thugheart wondered what the tribes had done _before_. He thought of Hiccup the First’s painted-over face.

‘By the end of today,’ Grimbeard continued, ‘you will have found out if you are the stuff Heroes are made of, or if you’re a jellyfish in a skirt. And let me say this now: the Kingdom of the Wilderwest has no place for jellyfish.

‘So!’ He clapped his hands together in jovial fashion. ‘Get your dragon-baskets, boys. You’ve got a difficult day ahead of you!’

There was a mad dash to the pile of dragon-baskets. Thugheart ploughed through the group of boys, elbowing everyone out of his path. Chucklehead trailed behind, laughing again.

‘Thor and Woden, Chuckles, what are you laughing at?’ asked Thugheart.

Chucklehead grabbed a basket from the pile and put his arms through the straps like it was a rucksack. ‘Everything,’ he replied matter-of-factly.

Thugheart rolled his eyes. ‘For Thor’s sake…’

He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned around to face his father. Grimbeard the Ghastly’s other hand was on the shoulder of Thugheart’s much younger and much shorter brother, Hiccup.

‘Thugheart, I know it’s your Initiation Day, but… can you do me a small favour?’

Thugheart had a nasty feeling that this small favour would involve Hiccup, but said yes all the same.

‘I’ve got a Bashyball game in twenty minutes, you see, and I really can’t miss it — I bet two of my swords that the Meatheads would come out on top. Could you keep an eye on Hiccup for the next few hours?’

Thugheart groaned inwardly. ‘Fine,’ he acquiesced sullenly.

‘That’s the spirit. I’ll come meet you after lunch, to see your new dragon!’ Grimbeard winked and was gone, sprinting toward the Bashyball field as fast as a man of his girth could run.

‘So, what are we doing?’ piped the annoyingly chipper voice of Thugheart’s youngest brother. ‘What are those baskets, and why are you wearing yours on your front? They should be worn like a rucksack. See, Chucklehead’s got it right.’

‘No, _I’ve_ got it right,’ argued Thugheart, irritated.

Hiccup shook his head. ‘You look like Old Fishbelly,’ he said. Bellicose’s mother, Old Fishbelly, had a paunchy stomach that she thrust in front of her like an ugly badge of honour when she walked.

‘I do _not_!’ Thugheart insisted. He went to join the other Initiates, trying to suck in his stomach.

‘What’s our plan, boys?’ he said, trying to ignore Hiccup blowing raspberries behind him.

The group of Initiates looked at each other and shrugged.

‘Well then,’ said Thugheart, ‘I suggest we should climb up the mountain in single file. Youngest at the front so we don’t lose anyone. What do you th—’

‘That’s an _awful_ idea,’ interrupted Hiccup.

 _Ohhh suffering scallops. Not_ again _,_ Thugheart fumed. His little brother, as usual, was taking the reins from him.

‘The weakest Vikings should go in the back,’ said Hiccup. ‘That way they won’t slow us down, and if one of them were to fall, they wouldn’t send the rest of us tumbling down the mountain.’

Yes, that made sense. The boys nodded their assent.

‘But what if the last boy in line can’t keep up?’ countered Thugheart. ‘What if he loses sight of the rest of us? What if he gets lost or injured? What if he finds himself stranded alone in the middle of a snowstorm?’

‘Then it’s too bad for him. You heard what Father the King said. The Kingdom of the Wilderwest has no place for jellyfish.’

‘That’s hardly fair—’ Thugheart tried, but the rest of the Vikings-in-Training were already lining up to begin the ascent up the mountain.

‘Take the lead, Thugheart,’ said Hiccup. ‘I’ll go second. You _are_ firstborn, after all.’

 _I’m not falling for_ that _one that easily._ ‘Since when were you coming with us, little brother?’

‘Since the others took my idea, I guess.’

‘That’s ridiculous. Wait for us at the bottom of the cliff.’

‘Father said you had to watch me. What if I was to wander off and be eaten by wolves? What would you say to him then?’

Thugheart sighed in frustration. ‘Fine, come along. But go in front of me, so I can keep an eye on you.’

‘I’d be happy to.’

His smile was falser than that of a Crocoraptor.

* * *

After what seemed like hours of climbing through miles of wind and snow, the Initiates finally reached the mouth of the cave in the right eye of the mountain’s skull. Thugheart could barely remove his harness with his shivering fingers.

Hiccup, however, seemed unaffected by the cold. Out of the corner of his eye, Thugheart saw him tiptoe straight into the Dragon Nursery,[2] and he had to stumble in his brother’s direction to make sure he wouldn’t become the first spring meal for twenty thousand hungry baby dragons.

The nursery was dim and humid, lit by Glowworms and heated by the breath of the aforementioned twenty thousand sleeping dragons. And they were _everywhere_ — snoring in tangled knots, hanging from the ceiling like bats, curled up in nests of foliage that they kept accidentally setting on fire. There were so many dragons that Thugheart had to watch every step he took.

Hiccup seemed awestruck by the whole thing. He stood silent and still as if in a trance, his mouth hanging slightly open. The boy had always been fascinated by dragons, for reasons Thugheart couldn’t fathom. Thugheart was sure he wouldn’t move for quite a while, so he took his eyes off his brother and made a careful beeline to the back of the nursery. He knew exactly what he was looking for.

And he found it. An enormous Monstrous Nightmare with beautiful grey-green scales was asleep alone in a tucked-away corner of the nursery. From the corner came an odd, rhythmic _scritch-scratch_ — the Nightmare was sharpening its claws in its sleep. This one was a natural killer, for sure.

Almost drooling with excitement, Thugheart took the dragon in his arms. It’s a little-known fact that dragons in the frenzy of a kill can become very warm indeed. This dragon’s scales were hotter than sun-baked limestone.

He had just deposited the Nightmare in his dragon-basket when one particularly infuriating voice spoke up.

‘You can’t take that dragon, Thugheart.’

‘Who says I can’t?’ he whispered furiously to Hiccup, who had somehow crept up on him and was now standing not three paces away.

‘Only the Heir to a Chief has the right to a Monstrous Nightmare.’[3] Hiccup remained talking in a normal voice; he seemed not to care who heard him, human or dragon. Thugheart’s dragon-basket rocked, just slightly.

‘Keep your voice down! I’m the _King’s_ Heir — the best Nightmare obviously belongs to me!’

‘No, _I’m_ the King’s Heir.’ Hiccup reached into his tunic and took out a pendant. He pulled the chain off his neck and held it up for Thugheart to see.

‘That’s… that’s the Dragon Jewel,’ said Thugheart, flabbergasted. ‘How did you get that?’

‘Father gave it to me. He said I was his favourite son and was going to inherit the whole kingdom when he goes to Valhalla.’

Uncomfortably aware that every human head in the cave was turned their way, Thugheart said, ‘Of course he didn’t. You Burgled that Jewel. Everyone knows it belongs to me.’ He made a grab for the Jewel, and Hiccup swung it out of reach. The dragon inside his basket rocked again, more violently this time.

‘Why would I lie about this?’

_Oh I don’t know, maybe because you’ve also lied about a million other things._

‘That Nightmare is mine by right. Hand it over.’

‘I won’t!’

‘I am the owner of the Jewel, brother. I am the King’s True Heir.’

‘No you’re NOT!’ Thugheart exploded. ‘You can’t be!’

And the dragon’s freshly-sharpened claws _ri-i-ipped_ through Thugheart’s dragon-basket.

‘RU-U-U-U-UN!!!’ he shouted as smoke began billowing out of the dragon-basket.

The young Vikings needed no urging. The other dragons had begun to wake up as well, and they chased the Vikings out, screeching and breathing fire. The boys ran helter-skelter out the cave opening — to a dizzying hundred-metre drop.

They would never be able to climb down in time.

Thugheart’s Monstrous Nightmare had finally worked its way out of his dragon-basket and reared up to slash his face. Hiccup shouted a word in Dragonese, and suddenly the dragon’s attention was turned from Thugheart to more interesting prey… or perhaps not. It alighted gently on Hiccup’s forearm.

But the dragons were still streaming out the cave entrance in droves. Thugheart was contemplating jumping into the cold sea below when he heard Hiccup cry out, ‘ **Furious! Help us!** ’

And a GIGANTIC SEADRAGON emerged from the ocean.

‘Jump!’ Hiccup shouted to the Initiates. He leaped off the cliff edge onto the Dragon Furious’s back.

Thugheart looked at Hiccup’s smug face, then at the horde of dragons advancing on him, and decided to jump.

Miraculously, he made it. But Thugheart had little time to revel in this success before he felt himself sliding down the Dragon’s slippery scales.

‘Grab onto one of his spines!’ Hiccup called out. Thugheart reached one of Furious’s back spines and held on for dear life.

Once all fourteen boys had successfully jumped, the Dragon Furious took to the air. He tilted himself so his left wing brushed the shoreline.

At Hiccup’s order to let go, the boys slid down Furious’s wing onto solid ground.

‘Thank the gods,’ breathed Thugheart.

‘Not the gods,’ Hiccup replied. ‘Thank me.’

* * *

Hiccup sauntered into the village, whistling the Hooligan National Anthem. The thirteen Vikings-In-Training followed behind, nearly all wounded in some way. One boy was missing a finger. Another had a long scratch on his face that was sure to leave a scar. Nearly all were limping or leaning on a friend.

Hiccup, on the other hand, was feeling just fine and dandy. He had gotten into scrapes like this before, where Furious had to pull him out of danger in the nick of time. He had known exactly what to do when the dragons had started pouring out of the nursery. Those other boys were so green, they couldn’t tell the difference between a Squirrelserpent and a Basic Brown. And _they_ were twice his age.

‘ **Stay here, Furious,** ’ said Hiccup as the mountain-sized dragon attempted to squeeze himself through the village gate. ‘ **You know what Father thinks of letting dragons into the village.** ’

Grimbeard the Ghastly actually had no problem with dragons in the village. It was just Hiccup’s dragon in particular that he had a problem with, but Hiccup didn’t tell Furious that. He didn’t want his blood-brother to feel bad.

Hiccup led the solemn procession through the village, stopping at each house to deliver one of the Hooligan boys home. By the time they had made it to the Harbour, only he and his older brothers remained.

Thugheart brushed past Hiccup, knocking into him on purpose.

‘I’ll get you back for this, little brother,’ he said, “if it’s the last thing I ever do.’

He stomped up the gangplank of _The Flying Dolphin_ without another word.

‘At least you got your dragon, am I right?’ Hiccup shouted to his retreating back. For it was true — Thugheart  _had_ escaped from the nursery with a dragon, a rather clingy female Dreamserpent that had curled up in Thugheart’s dragon-basket, looking for a nice place to sleep.

The grey-green Monstrous Nightmare, on the other hand, was perched on Hiccup’s outstretched arm. He reached out to stroke her, and she purred.

‘What are you going to name her?’ asked Chucklehead.

With his left hand, Hiccup pulled the Dragon Jewel out of his shirt and gave it a good look. Two dragons, each eating the other’s mouth — the Alpha and Omega. He _had_ Burgled it, right out from underneath the King’s nose. But he would never give Thugheart the satisfaction of knowing the truth.

‘I’ll name her Alpha,’ Hiccup said decisively. The Nightmare purred again. ‘See? She likes it. Don’t you, Alpha?’ She playfully snapped at the Jewel in Hiccup’s hand, and he tucked it back down his shirt front.

‘Alpha,’ said Chucklehead. He laughed, and Hiccup frowned. His brother was always laughing for no reason.

‘Shouldn’t you be getting on the boat?’ Hiccup said sharply. ‘It’ll be leaving any minute now.’

Chucklehead nodded and walked up the gangplank, still chuckling and muttering ‘Alpha’ under his breath every few seconds.

Hiccup was all alone on the dock now. He spread his arms wide. ‘ **Furious!** ’

The great green dragon burst out of the ocean. He made a loop-de-loop in the sky before diving back into the blue waves. He was so large that his claws could touch the bottom of the sea and his head would still be above water.

‘ **Furious, I told you to stay by the gate.** ’

‘ **You called me, brother.** ’

Hiccup shrugged. ‘ **I knew you’d follow me.** ’

‘ **I will always follow you.** ’

‘ **Are you ready?** ’

Furious nodded.

‘ **We’d better get this done quickly,** ’ said Hiccup. ‘ **Father will be back from his Bashyball game any minute now. And if I know anything about the Meatheads, he won’t be pleased.** ’

Furious shook his head. ‘ **Humans. I will never understand you.** ’

‘ **That’s alright. Fly?** ’

The dragon bent down and extended his left wing onto the docks. Hiccup hauled himself up onto Furious’s back, using his wing-scales as hand- and foot-holds.

Once Hiccup was securely on his back, Furious took to the sky.

 _This is true flying,_ he thought as the dragon soared through the air. _High above the clouds, far away from the humans and all their evil. This is where I was meant to be._

Alpha seemed to agree. She lifted her head from its resting spot on Hiccup’s shoulder and purred.

Furious craned his neck backwards to look at the grey-green Nightmare. ‘ **Who is this?** ’

‘ **You’re speaking to the fifth daughter of the Great Ripperclaw himself,** ’ she replied haughtily. ‘ **The young Viking gave me a name, however… my apologies, young Viking, but I don’t understand the lumpentongue.** ’[4]

Hiccup cleared his throat, aware that he was in the presence of royalty. ‘ **My name is Hiccup. I named you Alpha… if that’s alright with Your Majesty.** ’

‘ **Your Majesty?** ’ She tittered. ‘ **There’s no need for your human titles. Alpha is a fine name. You’re awfully SMALL for a Viking,** ’ she added.

‘ **I’m only a Viking-in-Training,** ’ he mumbled.

‘ **He’s not even a Viking-in-Training yet,** ’ Furious said to Alpha. ‘ **He won’t begin the Pirate Training Programme until next year.** ’

She hissed. ‘ **My Master is a** **_child_** **?** ’

‘ **I’m not a child!** ’ objected Hiccup.

‘ **Do not underestimate him,** ’ said Furious, flashing his blood-brother a small smile. ‘ **He may be young, but he is the third son of King Grimbeard the Ghastly.** **_And_ ** **he speaks Dragonese, as you have seen.** ’

‘ **I’ve noticed,** ’ said the Nightmare. ‘ **How** **_did_ ** **you come to speak the noble language of the greenbloods?** ’

‘ **I grew up on an island off the coast of the Uglithug Lands, where a Grimler Dragon suckled me,** ’[5] said Hiccup. ‘ **Furious—the Seadragon we’re riding—and I grew up together. Dragonese is my mother tongue.** ’

‘ **Your father sent you to be raised by dragons so you would learn their language?** ’

‘ **No.** ’ Hiccup frowned.‘ **He didn’t even know I was alive until his Hooligan Raiding Party found me. I must have gotten lost as a baby. I never really thought about it before.** ’

‘ **We’ve arrived, brother.** ’ Furious landed in the Harbour and tipped his wing, letting Hiccup slide onto solid ground. ‘ **Gods grant you luck.** ’

‘ **You know I don’t believe in those silly gods, Furious.** ’

‘ **May they grant you luck anyway, in both your expedition and overcoming your foolish ignorance.** ’

* * *

‘ **What are we doing?** ’ Alpha whispered, perched atop Hiccup’s shoulder as he made his way down the empty streets of Tomorrow.

‘ **You’ll see,** ’ said Hiccup.

She narrowed her eyes and hissed. ‘ **Where** **_is_ ** **everyone?** ’

The great island of Tomorrow was usually bustling with noise and activity—dragons of every colour and breed sailing through the grey skies, Vikings of every tribe making their way down the mazelike streets, vendors touting swords and shellfish from every corner. But the island was completely deserted.

‘ **They’re all at the Bashyball game,** ’ said Hiccup. ‘ **Murderous versus Meatheads. The Murderous will come out on top again. They always do.** ’

Alpha gave a small, princess-like huff of disdain. _‘_ ** _Humans_** **.** ’

‘ **I’m not too fond of them either.** ’

Hiccup arrived at the steps of Grimbeard’s castle—a terrifically huge stone structure that would have been better described as a _fortress_ rather than a castle. It was built in the Roman style, with a gatehouse and turrets and no fewer than _six_ towers. From the tallest tower, three flags flew—the green Hooligan flag, the red-and-gold flag of the Wilderwest, and Grimbeard’s own skull-and-crossbones sigil. The whole thing was awe-some and terribly frightening. Even Alpha blinked in surprise.

‘ **We have to be quiet now,** ’ said Hiccup. ‘ **I don’t know how many of the servants stayed behind.** ’

He tiptoed around to the back of the castle, Alpha staring at the dizzyingly high stone walls and wondering how a person could live in such an enclosed space.

He slipped into the kennelmaster’s hut, where Dragon Djuri lay sleeping off last night’s mead. With a precision that Bellicose would have been proud of, Hiccup Burgled the kennelmaster’s ring of keys from its hook on the wall.

Alpha watched curiously as her master tickled each royal dragon in its cage between the ears to wake them up. He jingled the keys in his hand softly, so the dragons with poor eyesight would know what he was doing.

Swiftly and silently, he unlocked every cage.

The dragons didn’t wait. They burst from their cages the moment Hiccup twisted the key.

‘ **You’ve done this before,** ’ said Alpha.

‘ **Six times.** ’ Hiccup wiped his eyes. The sight of dozens of dragons soaring up into the air made him all teary.

‘ **If these dragons have been freed and recaptured six times,** ’ Alpha said slowly, as if she was speaking to a very stupid person, ‘ **there’s obviously something wrong with your method.** ’

‘ **No, this is worth it,** ’ said Hiccup. ‘ **Because every time I free them, a few manage to escape for good.** ’

* * *

[1] If you are a careful reader, you may notice that Thugheart was much older than any of the boys in Hiccup the Third’s memoirs. The reason for this is that in Grimbeard’s time, Vikings-in-Training went through the Pirate Training Programme BEFORE catching their dragon. After a rather nasty incident, the Tribes decided it would be best for their Vikings-in-Training to catch their dragons FIRST, as dragons take several years to train before they can be ridden successfully into battle.

[2] Hiccup the Third describes a tunnel leading to the Dragon Nursery in the first of his memoirs, _How to Train Your Dragon_. However, as shown in this story, said tunnel did not exist during the time of Grimbeard the Ghastly; artificial landslides created by the Ripperclaw’s dragon army during the Second Dragon Rebellion reduced the entire front half of the Dragon Nursery to a cramped tunnel.

[3] This unofficial law was changed to be the right of a Chief’s son, rather than merely his Heir, after Chucklehead became Chief of the Hooligan Tribe, mostly due to the fact that he was bitter about never being allowed to catch a Monstrous Nightmare in his youth.

[4] Dragons who have lived with and are familiar with Vikings usually can usually Norse, which they call the lumpentongue. It's rather curious that Alpha, who was obviously given a princess's education, does not understand it herself.

[5] The full story of Hiccup the Second’s unconventional childhood can be found in Hiccup the Third’s eighth memoir, _How to Break a Dragon’s Heart_.


End file.
